


The Brat Prince

by snazzelle



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Daryl surviving, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Gang Rape, M/M, Master/Slave, Pervert Governor, Public Claiming, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Slavery, based in no reality, fast burn, meaning there will be smut almost immediately, militant dystopian, past(?) feminization, past(?) humiliation, post-apocalyptic dystopian, slave!daryl, very tight Rick/Shane friendship, well meaning!Rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzelle/pseuds/snazzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post apocalyptic dystopian AU. It seems history is bound to repeat itself after the virus that killed and reanimated the bodies had come and gone, leaving behind a wasteland in desperate need for law and repair. With so little to have survived, what once was a democratic nation had returned to an authoritarian patriarchy and had evolved into something so far from the legendary equality from before the Turn.<br/>Rick Grimes was one of the lucky ones, with a namesake that earned him a lot of respect and fear. A Colonel in the army, he had earned the reputation.<br/>It was when his division was sent to defend a long running industrial town that he found Daryl, chained up and locked in a notorious rebel hideout, that things start to get interesting, and the boring, structured life Rick had set out for himself was knocked out of place when he claims the slave as his own to save his life.</p><p> </p><p>Dedicated to reedusgif (Masa) who's been in and out of my inbox talking with me about this dystopian the day that picture came out. c:</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msbt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbt/gifts).



> First, I'd like to thank Masa for encouraging me throughout this first chapter as well as Sydney, Sunny, Saya and Steph who gave me courage to post this fic, and Vi who read through it and told me that my lack of military knowledge is acceptably hard to notice LOL
> 
> I have very bad knowledge on that stuff. 
> 
> Second, I'd like to apologize to anyone waiting on chapters to a shit ton of my other fics. 
> 
> **Rescue** and **Sunrise Comes Too Soon** are fighting for my attention right now, as well as my **Good Boy** series and then the **Humiliation and Obedience** verse.  
>  Now I have to write a second chapter to THIS fic on top of that while balancing my nursing school so...  
> I am swamped LOL but I will try my best c:

Rick could smell the rain before the dull, gray clouds could pour over the industrial town of Yves. It was overtaken by Walkers when the city had been on the rise once it started earning its wealth and one of the first to lay wasted as the reanimated bodies began to drop lifeless. It was one of the ruined downtown cities to be restored, made into something out of what was broken and abandoned. They never learned the names of those who recovered the growling machines that spat out black smoke from before, but many in the town knew just how to control the metal beasts for what they were. The town held one of the largest, functioning factories on the East side of the Mississippi, and right now a rebel faction had taken possession of it, cutting off the Regime from some very important goods, goods that went straight to their military.

Even Rick's brigade was feeling the losses and a heavy blanket of anxiety covered the camp. Their supplies had been limited when it came to the bullets that fed their guns, and their hefty meal from the night before felt more like a welcome feast to the gates of hell than a pre-battle dinner. The second hand was ticking, counting down until the time they were to storm Yves and take back what was theirs, reopening trade routes that had started to run dry and become dangerous. There was lightening in Rick's chest that he learned to be comforted by, to trust in because it's saved his hide more than he can count, even if right before battle it left his stomach feeling wretched and sick.

He could hear someone vomiting the contents of their dinner just behind the cafeteria tent, where only an unaffected few crowded for bowls of oatmeal.

Shane grimaced next to him at the sound, scoffing lightly with the shake of his head. “Sounds like we got a few new bloods rollin' in just this week. Boy singled himself out- watch the crew start betting the minutes 'til he's dead.”

They could already hear the cook mutter to a lieutenant that the kid would survive a mere thirty seconds before they both laugh.

Rick sighed and watched as the private's comrades came and dragged him out of the bushes, patting at tense shoulders and leading him away from the smell of food and the battle-hardened laughs of those men. “It might be his first experience in combat, but he's got his brothers,” he said and nodded towards their retreating figures. They were young and probably didn't belong here just yet, but Rick remembered how young he was when he joined. He remembered sharing those blood-chilling nights with the brother next to him now and how they probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for each other.

Shane followed Rick into his tent, the time still early enough that the other didn't need to be piling on his protective vests and gear. They pass Rick's service uniform without a glance, the gleaming feathers reflecting off the morning light before they let the slip of cloth close behind them. Rick's tent was one of the bigger ones, but he kept it the inside minimal with his one cot and thick blanket over at the corner of the tent. The table probably took up most of the room and on it laid the map of the state, already with red x's that marked all dead ends and possible ambush sites and the blue x's that their mole was able to pinpoint as the kingpins of the Woodbury Syndicate.

“We need to run 'em out. Run 'em South. Right now we just gotta get them out of downtown, and once we do, they'll head straight to Remington.”

Shane grabbed one of the markers, uncapping it with his teeth before laying a big fat red 'x' at the Northeast entry into what was once highway 72 when the city had been Huntsville. He recapped. “Barricaded, last Rhee checked. He came in while you were sleeping.”

“He's alright?” Rick asked, his eyes not leaving the winding roads leading deeper into the city. They needed a new entrance if they couldn't take Northeast.

The other nodded, though Rick wasn't paying attention to him. “A little banged up, but nothin' that little punk can't handle.”

“Can he come in here?”

Shane hesitated, and the prolonged silence made Rick finally look up from the route of operations. He knew Glenn, and though he'd only just met the younger man half a year ago, the Asian was someone Rick found a friend in. He found Glenn's inability to lie both endearing and hilarious and also admired the other's unbreakable will. These things could easily get him killed, and Rick knew that. But he also knew what an asset the other was, that with his lithe and quick form, he could get in and out of a place better than anybody. It was a talent he couldn't waste, especially now with so much at stake.

“You told me he was alright.”

“He is.”

“Then where the hell is he?” Rick couldn't help the growl of annoyance from entering his voice. He combed through his dark hair, looking at the other meaningfully for a damn answer on his crypticism. “If you're trying to give me a heart attack you're succeeding.”

Shane barked out a short laugh, “Man, calm down! I said he was alright, he's fucking alright. He's just sleepin' somewhere and the kid deserves some undisturbed sleep before he has to go out there again.”

The childish urge to chuck something at Shane's head risen in him, but Rick just sniggered in kind and released a deep breath he hadn't known he was holding in. Shane was right, and it was that man's voice in his head as he thought when had he ever been wrong?

“I don't care what section he's assigned. I want him at the West 72.” That section was to wait there as back up in case the first wave met too much resistance. They knew it, and he knew everyone out there knew it. There was not a single ray of doubt that they'd have to use every man, but it would raise the chance of Glenn's survival.

“Where will I be?” Shane asked jokingly, like he had any right to expect differently.

Rick scoffed and pushed him away from the table, “Where else but by my side, you idiot.”

Shane grinned widely, stepping back until he was half out of the opening and dragging the cloth door behind him. “Need someone to make sure ya get out alive. Ain't trust no one better than myself. Get yourself ready, BG.”

“Colonel, Shane. I'm not my dad.”

“Whatever, whatever. Can't believe you didn't take the promotions, man, that thing was handed to your posh ass-”

Rick did finally give in and threw the blue marker at Shane with an amused smile on his lips, hitting him squarely at the top of his bald head as he ducked. “Get the hell out now, Lieutenant.”

 

–

There was a light sprinkle as Rick's company started in on foot. He had insisted on foot would be best. They weren't exactly one hundred percent sure where the rebel's eyes were, all perfectly hidden within the tall blue and gray infrastructures, all armed to the teeth. He didn't want to be singled out from the others, wouldn't give the enemy that chance, and without his ceremonial gear, Rick blended in just fine in his gray state issued uniform.

Their plan was routine, the only difference was the location. Shane stood next to him, the crowd not exactly in straight lines, but blending into the rough terrain just outside the seedier parts of the city. Still trying their best to remain undetected themselves. Eventually their booted feet hit enemy turf and they were bleeding out into ground levels of abandoned buildings, quietly directing themselves and each other. Something fleeting like pride filled Rick's chest at the display, but it was gone for much heavier, important things. This wasn't an exercise anymore, and it sure as hell wasn't for points that got them closer and closer to hitting rank. This was going to cost them sweat, blood, and their very lives. It had taken only months to beat that into their hard heads during boot camp, but the lessons were still there.

The smell of gunpowder was heavy in the air and somewhere in the back of Rick's mind, Rick remembered someone telling him that Yves smelled like pine and hickory. Shots were fired here the night before. Rick had thought those quiet cackling sounds were from the embers burning dimly in the camp.

There were civilians scattered about, looking days without wash, and seeing their uniform, had kept their quivering mouths shut and their wet eyes on them, each being taken away and towards safety. There were no capable men in the crowd of people. Only the women and the very old and young. 

A woman cried as she held onto Shane, her tears streaking over a dirty face. “My daughter is in there- she's in there!” She gasps, voice raising in pitch until Shane had to put a hand over her mouth and shush at her. The situation was delicate. She kept talking until she realized she couldn't be understood and whimpered into his gloved palm, shutting her eyes and trying to calm her shaking breaths. Rick tilted his head to the side, motioned for Shane to get rid of her quick before they head in.

“Hey, I'll get her. I'll get her, okay? Just go with that man...” He pointed to a mustached individual with a no nonsense face and white and gray paint to help hide himself better in the fog, like everyone else. “His name's Reeves, see, and he'll tell you where to go. I'll find your girl.”

She managed to give Shane a picture of her before Reeves was coming over to take her away. The photograph was crumpled up in a ball and Shane had to flatten it out to see the Polaroid photograph of a little blonde girl with freckles. He let Rick take a look before he was pocketing it. “Looks about twelve. Maybe thirteen. A priority?” 

Rick nodded, “As much women and children should be evacuated from the premise. Can you do that for me?” 

“I can maybe do one or two,” Shane muttered, head nodding side to side in joking contemplation. Rick snorted and looked over Shane’s shoulder, saw his men coming back from directing the civilians and pointed his fingers forward. They silently went ahead, nearly unheard except for the quiet clunking of their heavy gear. “They got the memo to kill any of the rebels on sight?” 

“No prisoners. They know.”

“Good. We meet up at the Mayor’s building in the center of town. You watch yourself out there, brother.” 

“Watch your own damn self, man. I wasn’t the one nearly shot through the kidney.”

\--

Daryl took the punch to the face, holding in his shout so that the girl he was protecting wouldn’t have to suffer through him taking her beating. His face was already an array of blues and purples, both eyes nearly swollen shut. They were told not to make him bleed and scar him, but there were no rules to what blunt force they used to punish him.

The girl cried out when she saw Daryl hit the ground, wanting to get up from her spot on the floor to come help, but Daryl shook his head, rasping out a pained, ”No”, before he was kicked in the gut, successfully knocking the air from his lungs. He groaned in pain, his stomach lurching and making him gag, as he curled up on his side. He gasped as a rough hand wound itself into his long hair and pulled him up. 

“So, who do you think you are that you can tell me what to do?” Willis asked him with a sick grin on his mouth. He was a nobody, a foot man. But compared to Daryl, he might as well be a king. The ragged S branded onto his neck might of marked him a rebel, but the collar told them all he was something else completely. A slave. And lower than dirt. The little girl had one around her neck too, too big and out of place.

“Ya ain’t gonna touch ‘er. Ya sick fuck.” Daryl reeled back and halked up a wad of spit onto Willis’ face. That got him another punch, one that had him falling onto his hands on the floor and made the world around him to spin. He heard the sound of a belt being undone and his eyes strayed to the girl who watched with horror. They made eye contact for a second before Daryl was dropping his head. He waited, holding his breath as the man whipped out his belt and lashed him once over his exposed back. Daryl arched and screamed, too much pain over his stressed body to hold back. He fell forward, face in the dirt and succumbing to fate as he heard the man begin to get his pants undone.

“See, I didn’t want ta have to do this to ya,” Willis said, sounding anything but, “but someone has to put you back in your place…”

Daryl just grunted, letting the foul man kick his legs apart, knowing that he had to get down to his level if he wanted to get his shorts off, and biding his time. When Willis does, Daryl was going to go for it, tackle him to the floor and tell the girl to run, let her get away before Willis could pick up his shotgun and threaten them both. 

“’Least you’re pretty to look at. The Governor really did somethin’ to you. Weren’t nothin’ much the first time you and your brother rolled in.” Daryl didn’t even have to turn around to know the man was fondling himself through his open pants, his stomach rolling around sickly at his intentions. His stare felt like spiders crawling all over his skin, making him shudder as Willis stepped up between his legs. “Now just help a brother out and lower them shorts the Gov so graciously dressed ya in.” 

Daryl wouldn’t, and with an annoyed grumble Willis was kneeling on the floor, one hand still working over his crotch while the other firmly squeezed at Daryl’s ass. With that, Daryl was hissing, “Run!” at the girl and spinning around, winding his limbs around the other man like an angry cat and trying to get the flailing man disposed of on the floor. Daryl managed to roll them around, both grunting as they bumped into wooden chairs and the table, knocking a lit candle right off and killing the flame that dimly lit the whole room. He heard the quick, small footsteps of the little girl and her terrified gasps. He just managed to look up from his place propped up on Willis’ lap, hands squeezing tight around the collar of his shirt to roughly throw him down against the concrete flooring, listening for her destination near the door. His heart dropped as it swung open on its own volition. 

“Shit. Shit.” Daryl muttered, distracted, and that one second had him under Willis again, spittle flying from his mouth with every promised death wish. His vision was swimming as Willis throttled him the same way, the back of his head meeting loudly to the ground until he was certain he blacked out for a second. When he next opened his eyes, the candle was lit and sitting on the table and the girl was held up by her blonde hair, tears streaming down her face.

His head was throbbing and there was this feeling of nausea that squeezed around his throat and gut as he attempted to sit up. Daryl was seeing halos around the lights, and each time he blinked his eyes it meant another second wasted trying to focus. Oh, Christ… Daryl’s thoughts shouted in his head as he looked up into the familiar face of his owner. 

“Today is not the day to be disobeying orders, Daryl.” 

“A-ain’t like tha’- ain’t- He was gonna-!” 

“What Willis does to her isn’t any of our business because she belongs to him.” A nonchalant smile that crossed his lips was noted before Daryl noticed the white hot branding stick held by one of the faces constantly at the Governor’s side. “Now don’t move. Wouldn’t want an accident, do we?” 

Daryl shook his head, and despite the world practically turning upside down on itself, he was desperately trying to get to his feet. Before he could take a step, though, a force was tugging him back, choking him on the collar wrapped tightly around his neck, the flash of his leash pulled taut by Willis who tugged viciously. 

“Please, don’t. She’s jus’ a kid!” 

“Yes, which means she has her life ahead of her to learn.” 

The girl fought in the other’s grasp, trying desperately to pry the hand open and kicking as hard as she could until she was held up against a stronger body. Her glassy eyes remained on the branding stick with the white hot ‘S’ as renewed tears streamed down her young face. “No, no, no, no,” She whimpered and sobbed. 

Daryl could only watch as the brand was pressed against the exposed sliver of skin of her thin neck, screaming and thrashing about as she screeched so loudly his ears rang. She fell limp in the man’s arms and Daryl retched at the smell of burning flesh, the young skin melting and charring underneath the metal. He hadn’t even known that in all his frustration and anger his own eyes had welled up spilled with hot tears. 

The leash was handed over to the Governor who tugged the now pliant Daryl to his side, making the man crawl on his knees or else face the consequences. A big hand carded through his hair, forcing his wrathful gaze upward, unflinching as the oppressive man wiped at the wet stains on his face with a thumb and clucked, “She’ll survive. You did, didn’t you?”

\--

The sound of gunfire was ringing down the streets and somewhere, under the shadow of a dilapidated building, Rick was feeling his heart somewhere up near his throat as he held his party back. He could see more of his men fighting in the fog, their screams mingled with those of the enemy, and though a young, reckless part of him wants to run into the barrage of bullets, the older, wiser part of himself knew to look for an opening. In war there comes a time when it’s about survival, and right then he wanted to preserve as many of his men as he could. 

The first hour had been really good. They managed to catch the rebel side unaware in their stealth and within the thirty minute mark, two messengers from the third and forth sections had given him the good news that the district kingpins have been taken down and that any survivors under their tyranny had made it safely to camp. They were coming in slowly, but they were covering all their sides, doing their best to not incite a full on gun battle. There just wasn’t the resources. 

But it sadly didn’t last. They were tipped, someone had told. Further towards the center there was an ambush sight caught too late and the mole who was to check for the clear was no where to be found. The Second was under fire, fighting in a fog that was hard to navigate in and even harder to see through. There were snipers in the windows, untrained but still very dangerous. There was the occasional flash at the tip of a rifle, bright targets in a white sea. They were sitting ducks fighting a shadow, scoping for ghosts in old buildings. They were as good as dead.

Jacobs, a short blond man with a wide frame, tapped Rick on the shoulder. He’s covered in dust and he’s bleeding on his left bicep from a graze wound. He motioned to the back of the building instead of running around the sidewalk edges, saying, “Sir, there’s a back door and the streets are empty.”

Rick nodded and with a final scan of the bloody scene in front of him, he was directing his company towards the back. 

“We’ll skirt the place. Take over where they can’t see us.” 

“But our boys!” 

One had stopped in his march, a young man with wide eyes and a trembling lip. Rick couldn’t recall his name, so he grabbed him by his arm and forced him forward. He stumbled on his heavy boots, his frame lighter than Rick had imagined “The faster we finish this, the more of us will make it through to tonight. Keep march.” There was no time to wait.

Jacobs scouted the front, winding them through rooms, passing what looked like poorly put together sleeping quarters. The rebels had taken everything, pushing people further out of the center of the city and leaving them where the wilderness outside started to overgrow and overcome these man made landscapes. Old, dirty beds had to be navigated around, boarded up doors had to be reopened. It was poor conditions, freezing within these concrete walls, unstable even as the ground remained as solid as ever underneath their feet.

A few who sat there to wait out the gunfire had stood at Rick’s approach, following in his lead. His company now consisted of his fifteen and three more from Second unit who had the luck and capability to hide in the same building they all found themselves in. He didn’t ask for an explanation, he didn’t care. He recognized the young, scared face of the kid in the bushes from that morning, pushed along by his somber buddy. What was important was that they were still there and hadn’t ran. 

There was quiet, and God, that was so much worse. They pushed forward, on the move, relying on their knowledge of the town, every labeled street to take them closer and closer to the center. It felt like a game of chess, how it felt the king piece being chased around, heavy and slow, because his side’s defenses were falling. His pieces were being taken off the game board one after another, but they were still on the offensive. Rick reminded himself that there is a reason they’ve come this far, that it wasn’t luck on his behalf, but that his soldiers silent conquest had opened up this road. That Shane and his unit were coming in from the opposite end with their unrelenting force. His soldiers were on the move. 

“There it is. I see it!” Jacob whispered loud enough for Rick to hear, and looking forward into the fog, he can see the pale outline of the white building and its Roman columned entry. It stood there fully restored, pristine against a backdrop of environmental demise. It had been a beacon of hope back in the day. There were old sketches of it hanging in Rick’s bedroom and tagged with his grandfather’s voice recalling memories of the first few elections held there. 

Rick noticed movement, and he wasn’t the only one. His arm was grabbed, dragged into the meager space of an unopened doorway, hidden behind a lousy strip of concrete. Not a second a later the sound of a gunshot rang into the empty street and right where Rick had stood sat a nasty black hole in the wall. He grunted as he hit the door and he looked past the soldier who had pinned him for safety, squinting his eyes to better see the shadows not too far ahead. 

“Another ambush?” he asked and Rick nodded, struggling with how to proceed. He jerked as the deafening noise returned and nearly lost his breath as he watched one poorly hidden soldier received a bullet in the chest. There was mild panic as the soldier was dragged into the building to staunch the blood flow. The sound echoed between the empty buildings, he couldn’t quiet guess where the gunman was.

There was a muted scream a few minutes later and then he noticed an orange flash waving from a window. Jacobs tensed next to him, waiting on Rick’s order. It could still be a trap, but if they were civilians, or men from their side…

On a dark night it was possible to see a candle light almost 50 miles away. It was a good 100 to 200 feet, the distance between them and the light. “How well can you see them?”

“Almost not at all, sir.”

Rick nodded and looked behind himself, searching for that one Asian face in a crowd before realizing that Glenn wasn’t there. He needed one of his moles. “Where is-“ He rasped under his breath, unheard, then, “Stevens! I got a job for you.” The dark male who stood tall gave him a salute. Rick grinned and shook his head before giving him directions.

 

—

They had nearly taken the girl away from Daryl and he almost sent himself into unconsciousness as he hyperventilated kneeling on the cold floor. He didn’t want to lose her, and hell, he didn’t even know her, but he needed to see her at all times, had to know she was safe. He can’t know that if she was alone with that disgusting old pile of a shit that now owned her, and Daryl would rather offer himself up a million times than let him even breathe her direction. 

The Governor had noticed and with a roll of his eyes, told his men to deposit the girl upstairs in their bedroom to rest, much to Willis’ disappointment. It was one of those things that the Governor did to try and earn some favor from Daryl, but he was never swayed. It didn’t work now either, but Daryl tried his best to calm himself at hearing the unspoken offer made to him, swallowing around gulps of air to bring the much needed oxygen through his heart and lungs. 

“You see, I do do you favors, don’t I, Daryl?” The Governor said once they were out of the godforsaken basement where they had been held while he was out and back into the suite on the second floor. The girl was in the bedroom with the door cracked open, alone and leashed to the bed. Daryl couldn’t of asked for more, at least knowing that no one would be harming her as she slept. The Governor approached him while Daryl was still on his feet, held his face and tilted it upwards, moving it this way and that to assess the damage. “Why do you always make someone hit you? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. You’ve learned your lesson, right?” 

Daryl resisted the common urge to spit in his face. “Yessir.” 

“Mm. We’ll get you to the nurse tonight. Take away the hurt.” 

Daryl nodded his head in the Governor’s grasp and dropped his chin submissively when the other moved away with a lingering sweep of his thumb on the corner of his bruised mouth. 

“Kneel by my chair, Daryl. I have presents for you.” 

That never meant anything good, but Daryl did as he was told and approached the Governor’s chair and kneeled. He could hear the other man on the other side of the wall, each of his light steps of his leather shoes with a dull thump as he walked around the bed. Daryl could almost count the steps away from the door, calculate the time it would take for the other man to come out, but it was information that he found useless as he remained unmoving. 

He’d been startled when a nameless man with a red handkerchief wrapped around his arm came in and marched into the same room as the Governor without knocking. From there, Daryl tried to concentrate on their voices. He could hear in the inflection in the Gov’s words, but couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to phase him one bit and a couple of seconds later, the man was dismissed, leaving the quarters without giving the kneeling man a second glance.

When The Governor walked in, there was a warm smile on his face, his one eye shining proudly at what he had in his hands. The long, thin box was brought over to Daryl and laid over his own lap where it was level with the slave’s sight. Instead of opening it right away, the Governor spoke, “When Merle walked in alone and demanded you’re place amongst us, I didn’t know what to say. I’ve heard you were ‘sweet’, and ‘sweet’ won’t survive in my army.” 

Daryl felt himself flush from the offense. He kept his mouth shut. 

“And then he walked in with you and I saw potential. This is for your own good, you know that?” He had to suppress a twitch when the older man touched his shoulders. With a hand spanning the base of his neck, a thumb caressing the junction of where shoulder met neck, the Governor opened the box and revealed what was underneath, placing the lid on the floor before putting the opened box over Daryl’s lap. “For you.”

Daryl gritted out, “Thank you.”

“Ever since my wife and child died, the world has been a very ugly place.” The Governor murmured as he combed the shoulder length strands with his fingers until the unruly curls hung in tamed waves around his neck. “You’ll be what changes that for me.” 

Daryl bit his lip in an attempt to not react as he looked at the sheer fabric of what could only pass as lingerie sat in the box. 

“Be a doll and change into that real quick. And try to look happy about the things I give you.”

Daryl bowed his head again before getting to his feet with the present, planning to strip down right in front of the Governor, as expected of him. He placed the box in the out stretched arms before putting his hands down over his waistband. The months with the Governor had gotten rid of any shyness as he quickly undid the front of his shorts and shoved them down his legs. His limp cock hung vulnerably between his legs and he only huffed as a curious hand fondled at him, coaxing him to harden, which his body inevitably react to. Color had only started to bleed down Daryl’s cheeks and into his shoulders when the Governor let him go to continue changing his outfit.

The shirt, that was more like a harness than anything, came off next with a couple quick maneuvering of buckles, falling to the floor heavily. He stood there in only his collar in front of the sitting man who didn’t even bother to hide his perverted leering. 

The white garments were put on, sheer where it hung open around his torso from the two pin thin straps over his wide shoulders, and restricting where the second piece cupped his pelvis. He felt oddly even more exposed, his face heating up with humiliation as his hips were grabbed. He was pulled between the Governor’s legs, gasping quietly as the other man adjusted him in the panties. 

“There. Look at you. Pretty.” The Governor said and smiled up at Daryl. “I was thinking of moving this to the bedroom, but lets not bother the girl in there.” His eyes darkened as he touched Daryl’s body, his front and back, rubbing his fingers over the points of his nipples through the fabric then back down where he could squeeze the skin of his ass easily. Daryl gritted his teeth, only letting out fast, shaky breaths. “Kneel.” Daryl got down and again he was looking up at the Governor, his lips firming as his cheek was grabbed again and thumb pushing past and into his mouth.

Daryl twitched, his first reaction to dislodge the intrusion. He glared up at the other man, his mouth filling with saliva at the sour sweet taste of the other man’s skin against his tongue. This wouldn’t be the first time he was violated orally and by now he’d become numb to the shame he had felt the first time he put his disgusting cock in his mouth. 

It didn’t lessen how much he wanted to kill this man.  
—

When Rick came within reach of the taller man, he shot forward and smacked the back of his round helmet. “Christ, Walsh! What are y’ doin’ here?”

The group of people hiding in the fog had been Walsh’s unit, the small group of them waiting out the guards at the front of the building. From what he could understand, every thirty minutes they’d make a new round, a turnover every hour, guarding the front doors of the capitol. Shane had been waiting for an opportunity and him and his unit hadn’t been here for very long. 

The Lieutenant grunted and shoved Rick back, his frown deep. He was just as glad to see that the other man was alive and here, but goddamn, he hated it when that man tries to run his show. Rick’s men were filing into the building, collecting themselves and getting their much needed rest. He had heard the gunfire and he so wanted to go back, but the mission came first. It was sacrifices like these that occasionally kept him up at night. He snarled under his breath, “Coverin’ yer ass! You think I didn’t clear my posts before comin’ here? It ain’t no hard job stealthin’ through the kingpins. Half of them were coked out of their damn minds, the others looked like they didn’t even know how to hold a gun.” He paused and rested back on his heel, a hand coming up to rub across his mouth. “Casualties are as low as ten. What is happening back there?” 

“I don’t know. Could of been anythin’.” 

A dry scoff. Shane pulled his helmet off his head and wiped back his sweat damp hair. He looked tired and vengeful at the same time, a dangerous combination for the other man. He chased after his words, mouth moving but not quite forming words as he tugged Rick closer and then said quietly, “You’re sayin’… Maybe a rat?”

Rick shook his head, “I’m not sayin’ that.” 

“But it can be. It could be.” 

Rick attested with a tilt of his head. He turned, giving the other man his cheek, “Yeah,” he jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth and pushed Shane back, leading him into the building. Inside, his men were silent, holding tightly to their weapons. Rick counted the faces, ticking off who was here and who were gone as they took a path into the hallways of the office building and then to the stairs up where a couple of men looked out with binoculars practically glued to their eye sockets. They hadn’t moved even as Rick and Shane entered the room.

Rick just had to hold a hand out before he was being passed a pair and then he was looking out the same window to see what he could of the tall building. The sun hung high in the sky, a simple hazy ball in the white clouds and as afternoon drew nearer, the fog was starting to lift. It left the world around them in all muted shades of gray, the gravel shining beneath them like sliver. The smell of soggy asphalt tickled Rick’s nose, adding to the coldness in his lungs. The street was empty and quiet.

They had to hurry. Even though the day was still new, the sound of gunfire had to of roused a couple of rebels. He had no doubt that by now The Governor knew about their presence, but that man was also a cocky son of a bitch. Word always came back on that man and the empire he was trying to create. He was good with words, good at manipulating people to join their side, and even better at convincing people to accept his terms. It lead to a lot of bloating in his big head, if Rick wanted to be honest, and he was planning to to use that to his advantage.

It must of been one hour because a group came out to switch the two out at the door. The men looked annoyed to be out there, a couple of them yawning and rubbing at tired eyes as they relieved the two at their stations. From there, the group of about eight split up, covering more ground and making it exceptionally more difficult than it had been only seconds before. Rick sighed. He handed the binoculars off to Shane, who looked through and cursed under his breath. 

“What’s the plan?” Shane asked him. He kept watch, following as many of them as he could so he knew exactly where they stopped. A few walked out of sight, hidden around the corner or behind a tree. The gated building only made it that much more harder to infiltrate as a group, but they could find their way to jump the wall individually. Maybe all the green would help them once they get in, instead of hindering their vision. 

Rick watched with his own eyes. They weren’t more than moving lines of color, but it was good enough just so he could understand the depth of their course. He had about 20 or 30 men with him in the building, taking eight wasn’t an issue. Them calling others for backup was. He asked, “How long till West unit comes in?” 

“Hadn’t had seen a Runner come and tell me, but since that little gun show down South happened, I don't doubt their on their way.” 

“Did you see the back of the capitol?”

“Oh yeah. Tent after tent of those nasty pigs. Think there are any more inside the building?”

“If the Governor could allow it in himself to share. Maybe just his very best. A medic. To list a few.” He paused, thinking about the lost little girl. “Maybe slaves.”

“They’re hostages,” Shane laughed tiredly and tossed the tool to the man who passed it to Rick before scratching the back of his head with one hand, the other planting on his hip. “This is just getting more and more impossible the longer I think about it. And let me guess, the missing men of the city, forced into the Syndicate against their will? Children used as ransom? Young girls made to-“ 

Rick put a hand on Shane’s shoulder as he repeated his first order, “Save who you can.”

“Like that makes it any easier in this fog.” 

“It’s going. But while its still here lets get as close as we can get. I want us within the gates and taking down the watch. It’ll take us ten minutes to jog there as a group, taking into account that we have to stay hidden. We get in, we take them down, and we open the gate. That complete, we take over the capitol, with or without the backup.” 

Shane scoffed but he nodded, taking is leave without being given his dismissal. He ran down the stares to relay the plan and course and Rick accepted the binoculars again, listening to the quiet facts of the other soldier looking out noting off possible openings and patterns in the watchers’ guard. He was buzzing again, the stress making his pulse bound. The fog was lifting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very insecure about posting this second part LOL
> 
> but my fellow writer Vi (Violet_Rose) looked over it. I'm very thankful for her support since AUs aren't generally her thing XD
> 
> SO YAY *U*

The plan to join the Woodbury Syndicate was Merle’s own. They weren’t making it on the edges of society. They weren’t cut out for that shit, weren’t good citizens from the moment they could crawl. Dixons were always bad, were always gonna _be_ bad. They had no place in Wilder’s Regime and would always be at the foot of the food chain. Merle had to learn to fight his way out of the bottom, even if he had to drag his baby brother right out of the mud to do it.

 

But as the Regime started to spread more and more under the newest president, finding a place under the radar was getting harder and harder. Slavery seemed to be a thing again, hidden under the guise of public working, but Merle knew the truth. He’s ran in and out of towns controlled by the Regime and seen the way people without citizenship and work were plucked off the streets and stuffed into sweat houses. The people of Yves would of easily put Daryl and himself in that position, so it was without heavy heart when he made the decision to join the Governor and take over the town. The crowd were scum, the lowest of the low, but so was Merle and as much as he hated to admit it, he fitted right in. 

 

It was easy leading his own little band into the capitol all those seasons ago and killing the mayor on the white steps in front of all those people. One by one they executed any official who had contact with Wilder and had taken the town as their own. With the roads under their control they took Remington farther South and had weakened the Regime. It was a success and Merle’s anger fueled brutality had earned him the Governor’s favor.

 

Merle got the brand. It was brown and scarred thickly on his neck. He didn’t scream as he got it and swallowed down the pain. He wasn’t a pussy when he joined and he wasn’t going to be a pussy on his initiation. A big man like Merle wasn’t going to cry in front of all these spineless fucks and he wasn’t going to give them the idea that he was someone to push around. After all, he was still tagged by his brother, who seemed to have earned himself some sloppy, drooling dogs hungry for his ass.

 

Daryl needed protection, it didn’t matter to Merle that he was a grown man. He’d been his responsibility way before his balls even dropped and he was going to be until either of them died. Daryl was as wild as they come, quick to lash out and even quicker to anger. It was all survival for the boy and Merle couldn’t of been prouder. Daryl was going to live for a long time, he had brains, something Daryl loved to say Merle lacked in department of. Merle loved to deny it, but it was true. Daryl knew his battles.

 

But Merle was still in control. Daryl didn’t want to join the Syndicate, said the Governor gave off a weird feeling the first time they met. Merle didn’t want to believe it. This opportunity was the best damn thing that ever happened to them and he was going to make Daryl see that. He pulled strings, made friends with the Governor, now Phillip to Merle, and the relief he felt when Phillip said he’d consider bringing his soft brother into the fold had taken the load off of Merle’s heavy shoulders. 

 

It hadn’t come to Merle’s knowledge until just that month, but it was burning inside of himself, the guilt. Phillip told him he was going to test Daryl out and Merle had been so blind. The Governor was charming, he easily lied to Merle’s face and said that he simply had to see if Daryl was cut out for it. Merle hadn’t been worried, because for all the times he goaded about his sweet brother, he talked a lot of truth about the boy’s hunting and fighting skills. He had been so _blind._

 

Merle asked every fucking month what was going on, and every single time Phillip told him that Daryl’s initiation process was going smoothly. It had only taken Merle one night of suspicion and curiosity to walk himself to the Governor’s study and hear his little brother whimpers of pain and Phillip’s pleasurable moans on the other side of the door. It made him want to storm into the Governor’s office, smash his smirking pretty face in, and pluck out his other eye and feed it to the dogs. He wanted to chop off every little finger that touched his brother and force it down his throat, cut off his dick and shove it up the Governor’s ass and watch him choke on his blood. And then let him fucking Turn, even though the last person to be Turned had been decades ago. 

 

But he couldn’t. The guard at the door smirked at him, knowing who exactly it was on the other side, that it was Merle’s little brother being defiled instead of earning his place next to him. He could take him, he knew he could. But the Governor was ruthless and if he knew Merle was going to come in with every intent on killing him, he’d have a knife in Daryl’s throat faster before he could even open the door. He left and it took _everything_ to walk way.

 

He didn’t know what to do. There was no where to turn to and he knew the pack he now rolled with weren’t going to empathize with him. He didn’t want to lose the one home he found himself, but the letter was sealed the moment his brother’s safety was in danger. He doubted Daryl would ever forgive him, but he wasn’t going to let this go on any longer.

 

He went AWOL. He doubted Daryl was ever going to find out, but the Governor will. A bounty was put on his head a week later and now he really knew what hardship was. Wanted on both sides, Merle had to find a way out, someone who’d do the human thing and help get his brother out. Mercenaries wouldn’t do it with the brand on his neck, so the next chance Merle got, he got the largest metal spoon he could find, fired it white hot, and burned the ’S’ right off his skin. It was the best that he could do, but when they laid out the price, Merle didn’t have it.

 

He was risking his life when he went to the Regimes and put himself in front of Joseph Wilder himself. He begged for assistance, not for his brother, but for Yves as a town. Whatever it took, every underhanded way that he could get a damn army to rain down on the Syndicate. When he had told Wilder that he knew the ins and outs of the rebel’s hideouts he’d been given a more thorough hearing. Merle spilled, but he didn’t tell them that he was the one that led the raid into the capitol. They had never shown signs of recognizing him, though the burn on his neck had given him a few suspicious stares. They noted everything he said and in a couple of days he learned that they would retake Yves. Merle offered his services, but they had refused.

 

So even though long ago Merle would of taken advantage of all the amenities they gave him until they finished the mission, Merle had paced his room. He could hear the vans and trucks leaving with a 200 large army to Yves. That was more than enough, even though he knew what his actions in the Syndicate had left the army dry. They had to succeed though. For his brother’s sake, as well as their own.

 

That afternoon while he sat and tried to distract himself with the radio, he was surprised when two guards barged into his room and grabbed him. He snarled and hissed at them, wondering what the hell was going on as they forced his arms behind himself and put him in metal cuffs. He was shoved to his knees and was soon looking up into Wilder’s face as he walked into the room. 

 

“You’re Merle Dixon. I remember that name now.” 

 

Merle felt his stomach drop.

 

——

 

Daryl had to of reached the lowest point in his life. He didn’t come from much to begin with, but he had his pride. Sometimes it felt like that was all he had and there were many times that there had been someone he knew who tried to take it away from him and failed. Looking up at the Governor, he did his best not to bite his thumb off and refused to swallow the acrid taste of his skin. If that made him drool like a dog, he didn't give a damn. He’d been treated as this man’s cum dumpster for six solid months, this man who had found ways to break him that Daryl didn’t think possible, and had passed him around like the sticky pages of a dirty old skin mag that something like a finger trying to make him gag meant absolutely nothing to him. Head held high, he tried to will his eyes from watering in reaction to the reflex being toyed, and stared right up at the Governor, giving him the fragile bits of disobedience he had left.

 

It didn’t take as long as usual for the Governor to tire of this act. For a fleeting second while his mouth was empty and the quiet stretched, Daryl wondered what happened to his brother, and if he had any idea where bringing Daryl into this world brought him. If Merle didn’t know, then he wasn’t coming. If he did, then Merle had to be dead. Daryl dropped his chin, watching the Governor contoured his fingers around his dick. He knew the threat and with a final glare, he shot his hands forward and, as _gently_ as he possibly could, worked him out of his slacks.

 

There had been two times that he’d been passed off to the Governor’s army. Merle had never known and Daryl was torn over wishing he had been there to stop it and grateful that he wasn’t there to witness it. As much as he wanted to refuse, the Governor was the less of two evils. He’d rather deal with him than be passed back and forth until he couldn’t even feel his body, until he felt like a giant walking bruise only to be used again and again once pliant. Daryl was smart, he had to survive. He _will._ He just needed to swallow his disgust and do what the Governor wanted until he could find a way out.

 

But his limit was being reached. If the Governor wasn’t holding onto the back of his neck, the presence of it threatening even as it laid there slack, he'd rip his dick clean off. His grip was just a little too tight as he wrapped it around the hefty girth, feeling the urge to vomit as it twitched in his hand. He licked his lips anxiously, knew that the other would think it was from eagerness, and then let the tip rest against his tongue.

 

He shut his eyes tight while the Governor relaxed into the chair with a sigh. This was always a game for him, how he’d card through his hair and encourage him gently. Like a lover. Like Daryl started this. The skin was tasteless against his tongue, warm and velvety, but the deeper it went filled him up with such disgust. The Governor could delude himself all he wanted, but Daryl wasn’t falling for the tricks. He didn’t want it and he hated it, even if physically he reacted to it, mouth watering as if he savored it in his mouth.

 

He moaned because that’s what the Governor liked and even put on a show, crawling closer into the junction of his thighs until he had no choice but to put his arms over the other’s lap. Daryl’s thin lips tightened around the flesh, tongue flat and wiggling against a thick vein. He normally wouldn’t gag unless the other man was fucking his throat, but the action made it jerk, spilled salty pre on his tongue. His mouth filled with thin, sour spit and he had to swallow, shuddering as the other man moaned and scratched his nails through his hair.

 

Daryl pleasured him. He stroked what he couldn’t fit, writhing his tongue around the flared head, making it good so that the Governor was lightly thrusting into his mouth. He wasn’t brutally fucking his throat and in some way it was even worse as the soft stroking of the flesh in his mouth illicit old calming habits to suckle him down despite his jaw hurting and the aches on his face throbbing painfully. He made his body accept it, want it even.

 

“Christ, Daryl.” The Governor groaned and pulled back his head, hair pushed back to better see Daryl’s face. “You… you look so much like her.”

 

He hated it.

 

-

 

Silent. They had to be as silent as possible. For right now the fog was a friend, cloaking them in a mist as Rick and his company invaded the half acre gated area. There had been a few close calls. Eight wasn’t a lot in such a big space, but their paths weren’t solid, like they didn’t exactly know what they were doing. They were so sure that they were safe, and Rick chocked it up to them thinking that the army hadn’t made it passed any of their ambushes. 

 

One by one the bodies dropped. Rick had found two together and he quickly disposed of one, his back up taking the other. The slice across a thick neck was clean, tearing of flesh with the edge of a blade, the other choking on his own blood before crumpling in his arms. At the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement and a spurt of dark blood as he set the body down gently. Rifling through pockets, Rick took his cartridges of ammo and then slung the rebel’s rifle around his back.

 

He met Shane near the door, seeing him just as he wiped new blood on his knife off on his pant leg. He had taken one down at the far side His upper lip was curled in distaste and he nodded once at Rick, acknowledging his arrival. “That all of them?” He whispered. It had taken them a few minutes to cover, but in time they’ve gotten rid of any of the ground watchers.

 

“Yes.” Rick said just as quietly and as the company of 10 approached from behind, he put a finger before his lips to signal silence. He checked the door, turning the handle to see if it had any give. It clicked open and he pushed it open a crack, slowly. 

 

He gave his men a moment to breathe. The moment the door was kicked in they’d alert their presence. The back had its tents, but whether or not they were filled with enemy rebels was unknown. There could just be five. There could be a hundred. There had been no message back on whether or not West unit was on its way or if Second had found their way out of the shower of bullets. It could just be ten here who wait at the door and the twenty filing in through the gates, half of which would hide in the shrub to protect their backs.

 

The moment passed and with his permission, a soldier was kicking the door in. Immediately they filed in, men shouting at those who came to see the commotion, guns aimed and demands thrown, guns fired,“Get down! GET DOWN!”

 

Rick grabbed a rebel by the back of his neck, a young man that reminded him of the private, of Glenn. He took him down to the floor, hand tight in his hair, “Hands behind your back!” He snarled while Shane held his aim. The kid did as he was told and Shane approached, using a zip tie to keep his hands together. “Stay there.”

 

“He marked?” Shane asked and searched his body, pulling ammo and a pistol to take. He checked him himself, roughly pulling the collar of a shirt down and finding bare skin. “Stay the fuck down. You’re a lucky sumbitch.”

 

“He’s up for initiation.” Rick said as they continued on. There were dead men the room behind and he knew it. No prisoners for those with the brand. The young man, who they left kneeling, was hopefully the only one without the mark; he hoped there weren’t more of them. Had he even learned to kill yet? 

 

Shane nodded. He remembered the crowds of hostages leaving, how they were missing any male over the age of 16. They stopped in front of a room and Shane kicked it in quick, the both of them running in and luckily found it empty of any people. Shane wouldn’t look at him as Rick said, “Branded or not, no survivors.” 

 

“Rick.”

 

“I mean it. They might be brainwashed against the Regime by now.” Rick said and then motioned with the rifle in his hands, “Its cold, I know. But either way, Wilder will make sure any prisoners will be put down.”

 

Shane scoffed and looked out the door. “This ain’t a mercy killing. It ain’t what it is.” 

 

“Never called it that.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

Rick paused. They were in the middle of a hallway, but right then rooms were being invaded, men were rushing in and disposing of any threat. Through the cries and gunfire Rick was still able to focus on Shane, sharing a look with him until he understood. Rick didn’t _want_ to do this. He had to. It was for the Regime, their home, and they had a duty to protect it.

 

Shane nodded and they continued further together. They stayed close to the walls, careful of any open doors. They had killed a handful of men each and as they pass open windows they could hear the battle being fought in the gardens. It didn’t lessen as they crawled the stairs, already with its splattering of red on marbles so white. Tips of their rifles lit with every pull of the trigger, loud and beating in their heads as they took down anyone reaching the stairs. No survivors.

 

-

 

 

Daryl wiped the back of his mouth while he could, gulping down hot cum so it wouldn’t stay thick in his mouth. He nearly hurls as it goes down, sitting sick and acrid like in his stomach. He loosened his grip around himself too, his hand covered in his own release the Governor demanded from him half way through. 

 

“The boots, love.” The Governor murmured lowly, rumbling as it comes deep from his chest. A pleased smile stretched across his lips  and Daryl went down so he wouldn’t have to look at him for long. 

 

His semen covered the smooth tip of pointed boots and he doesn’t hesitate as he slid his tongue through the cool white tracks. At least it was his own and it was less revolting coming off of his shoes than having a piece of the Governor inside of him. The slick sound of his tongue flicking off the boot was embarrassing and he couldn’t ignored the sighing groan from the man sitting. As he got the last bits of it off, he is directed to sit in the the Governor’s lap, so he does. He climbed into the offered seat with his thighs around the Governor’s hips on the chair, knees digging into the corners. Immediately the Governor touched him, praising him.

 

“You are so good to me, Daryl.” He murmured and pressed his lips at Daryl’s jaw to his neck. They’re soft and it illicit all kinds of sensations. Its screwed up how his body reacted, how it seemed to crave the soft touch when his whole life had been without and he shivered, the reaction making the Governor chuckle fondly. “You can do it for me again, can’t you?”

 

Daryl shook his head and he’d of voiced it if only the Governor didn’t laugh at him and press a finger at his lips to silence. Daryl gritted his teeth and nearly shot off of the man’s lap as he felt hands at his rear, cupping both cheeks and grazing the cleft with his fingers. 

 

“Yes you can. You’ve given me so much more than one,” the Governor teased. Daryl felt that if he bit any harder he’d break his own jaw. “Lets get you nice and wet for me, what do you say?”

 

“Fuck you- ah!” Daryl gasped as he received a sharp slap to his face, his already bruised cheek blooming with color. He breathed harshly through his nose, shaking as his chin was grabbed in a harsh grip and made to raise his head and look at the other. He stared at him through his bangs, hoping he could feel the hate radiating off of himself.

 

The Governor tsked and  softened his grip slowly, his angry scowl becoming kinder. Daryl felt fearful as a long arm wound around his body, holding him close and in place. He’s seen this man bite of the fingers of a traitor who attempted to kill him, unafraid to spill blood with his own teeth. He tried to turn away, but the Governor’s hold was firm. 

 

“Do I need to remind you you’re place?” Daryl’s grip on his forearm was telling. “…I didn’t think so.” 

 

 

He heard faintly the sound of a cap being opened, in seconds the feel of fingers crawling down the waistband of his panties, and finally the gentle swirl of a finger reaching between the cleft for his entrance. It was there and gone, and it left Daryl feeling sickeningly wanting. He couldn’t look at him.

The Governor patted his hip, “Go close the door, Daryl. And then we’ll fill you right up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Check if the girl is still asleep, wouldn’t want her to witness our activities in the study.”

 

Daryl crawled off his lap, trying not to look to eager. He nodded once and he was relieved when the other didn’t reach for him. He tolerated the heavy gaze upon his scantily clad body, though. He knew it was just an excuse to see him at a distance and humiliate Daryl further.

 

He was glad that the other kept the place as cluttered as he does. It reflected the Governor’s state of mind, tight and claustrophobic. Full. Confusing. Overbearing. He opened the door enough to look in and inhaled strongly, jaw tightening as the girl sat up frightened in the bed, huddling near the head. He walked in and left the door open a crack. “Sh.” His mouth created the shape, but didn’t make a sound as he approached the bed, finger over his mouth. Her small face cringed in fear and confusion. “Hey,” he whispers as he reaches her, doesn’t join her on the bed. She’s intimidated by him, and he could hear her quietly whispering back, “Why are you dressed like that? Why am I here?” 

 

“I’ll get ya out, I swear. Jus’ keep quiet.” She nodded quickly, blinking quickly her wet eyes. “Go to sleep…”

‘

He watched her as she rearranged herself in the bed, back to him and to the door. When he left the room, he noticed that the Governor wasn’t in his seat anymore, but was at his desk. There was a note in his hand and Daryl jumped as he heard the office door close. Someone had just been inside to deliver some news. The look on the Governor’s face is calculating and closed. He expected to be dismissed and had hoped so. But once the Governor acknowledged his arrival, he was motioned towards him. 

 

The room spun as he was suddenly grabbed around his neck and slammed onto the surface of the desk, eyes wide at the sudden violence. Daryl scratched at the Governor’s hands, but it was no use, his vision swimming as thumbs press down on his throat and sealed off his airway. Daryl kicked as oxygen was denied to him, his face turning red as the need for air became more urgent. He really thought this was the end, but then the pressure was released and Daryl spluttered for air. 

 

The Governor took in one deep breath and released it. Daryl flinched between gasps as the Governor pressed himself between his open legs, “Your brother betrayed me,” he said. 

 

Daryl cried, “Don’t touch me!” He sat up, fist cranked back, but his wrist was easily caught, his position causing him to slow. One hand, then two was shoved above his head, hips pressing him down firmly so that that he was pinned. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you! I’ll kill you!”

 

Daryl growled at the condescending laughter.

 

“I’m all you have left, Daryl.” The Governor said with a cruel grin. “Merle will be dealt with. But you could stop this bratting right now and I’ll think about letting him go.” As the fight died down in Daryl’s tired body, the Governor had let up on his grip around his wrists and petted his hair away from his forehead. “Now where were we?”

 

Hands went to his hips again, dragging his panties down and spreading his legs. Daryl snapped, his reflexes quick, hands scrambling over the messy surface of the table and closing around the nearest thinnest object. The Governor only had a second to realize what was happening. Daryl shoved the tip of a sterling silver pen into the side of his neck, snagged it back out, and did it again. Again. He wanted it to hurt and he felt all his own hurt and anger bleed out of himself, put into each rough thrust of the weapon into the Governor’s jugular. While the Governor choked on his own blood, Daryl easily flipped their positions, holding the Governor down.Those hands on him now, how they used to grope at him and made him feel like a whore, was groping at him now with helplessness and terror. It felt good. Daryl felt powerful.

 

He killed him.

 

He killed him.

 

Daryl looked at the scene under himself, his hands stained with blood, face and chest splattered in warm red. The one eye in the Governor’s head looked up at him unseeingly. The gaping wound in his neck was Daryl’s doing, done brutally with an expensive pen. A pen, of all things. A hysterical chuckle, quick, left his mouth before he slapped his hands over his mouth to stop it. _Fuck._

 

He stumbled off of the Governor’s dead body. Eyes drifting down over himself. The white material of the lingerie was just as gruesome, but its not his own. Daryl was shaking as he reached for the discarded panties, pulling them up over his hips, then scrubbing uselessly around his face and neck, not doing more than smearing the blood. He didn’t want the girl to see him like _this._

 

But there was movement outside. His head snapped towards the door as he heard gunfire coming from down the stairs and hall. By the sounds of it the capitol was under siege.

 

 

He had to get the girl out.

 

Daryl rushed into the room, the door flying right into the wall with a loud bang. It startled the girl, who sat up and gasped at the sight of him covered in blood. “He’s gone,” Daryl told her, “Its over.” There was something like hope in her eyes, but as she tried to leave the bed, the collar around her neck pulled her back. The chain kept her from leaving.

 

The sound of rifles firing was coming closer. The girl looked at him with panic, begging him to not leave her. Daryl had no intention to. Daryl grabbed the chain, followed it back up to the unmovable bed frame and giving it hard enough tug to see its give. Nothing.

 

“Please, please don’t leave me here…” She whimpered and Daryl shushed her, told her he wasn’t going to go far. He left the room to check the Governor’s pockets, the desk, the table. 

Still nothing.

 

Daryl cursed and slammed his hands down on the desk after he went through it again. It was like a storm had went through the whole office as Daryl picked through anything he could find that the Governor could of left the key that kept the chain locked to the bed. There wasn’t even a pair of scissors strong enough to cut the leather collar off of her neck. 

 

“Please, sir!” She cried as he came back. Daryl shut the door and locked it, coming to the bed where he sat and allowed the girl to crawl into his arms. He could hear the office door being forced open and then then the collection of voices silenced from seeing the dead body of the Governor at their feet. There was a quiet voice, husky, but understandable, to search the area. The girl took in one terrified breath and Daryl kept his eyes on the door, ready to protect the girl from these men if he had to.

 

Someone tried for the door and then it was being kicked open. Guns were pointed at him and Daryl tensed as the bed was surrounded, remembering the last time he’d been in the center of a circle of hungry men. He snarled at the first man to come near him, looking up into the face of the soldier who grabbed him by his hair and extended his neck. 

 

“Stop,” a commanding voice had widened the circle and Daryl was dropped, back to putting his body in front of the girl who hid her face in his back. He knew he was a sight, covered in a man’s blood as he was. The one who spoke asked him one question, “Did you do that? Out there?” 

 

Daryl gave him a single nod. He turned his head sharply to glare at the man who yelled, _“He is part of the Syndicate.”_ A round of voices reached his ears, like animals, agreeing with the soldier who pointed out his forced alliance. He didn’t know where to look, eyes darting to anyone who came near him. He was grabbed again, and he cried out, reaching for the girl who screamed and tried her best to hold onto him. “No… no, let me go!” Daryl demanded.

 

“Please!” The girl cried and as she jumped out of the bed to try and save him, a different man caught her, his grip firm but gentle. Daryl growled again, pulling against the men who held him back, seeing red as the stranger grabbed her chin and lifted her head. The new ’S’ on her skin was bright and new.

 

“Shit.” He said and caught the attention of the one in charge, the one who had stopped it at first. “It’s her.” 

 

He nodded, his lips firmed and blue eyes piercing as he approached Daryl and grabbed his arm. Daryl wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but he was put behind the man with the girl, and the other let her go so that she could cling to his body.

 

“Claimed,” the leader said. Whatever that meant, it kept those animals back.

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  The picture that started it all.


End file.
